Tales From Thac

by F P Spirit et al.

  Perhaps the pouring of her heartfelt stories had charged the book with spirit, and she never had the power to notice it before. She was standing there, leafing through her book, and organizing the thoughts of what she needed to write as soon as she had ink and quill in hand again, when a familiar voice cried out from behind her.

  “Don’t worry, Princess. I, Sir Gulhawk, will save you from that tome of dark, incomprehensible, inky words!”

  “Sir Gulhawk is mistaken,” Merry intoned, while striking a grand Gully-pose back at him. “It is not a lowly princess you face, but the mighty sorceress, Meriwynn!”

  Epilogue

  Erik P. Wenson

  Irweena absently seasoned and breaded the raw fish, preparing it for the oil. It was a process she had once done with love and attention. Now, while the resulting taste was hardly any different to the average patron of the Corner Tavern on Calipherus Street by the wall of Ravenford, there were some who would know the difference. The Baroness was one. The others were all gone. It was the fishcakes that had kept her from them on that fateful day, and it was the fishcakes that allowed her to continue afterward.

  Irweena had heard the stories of what had happened. The Drellers had seen it from afar, and sailed back to warn the town. It was so like the stories her young Merry had written in her journal. Dragons locked in some mortal battle, for reasons no mere mortal could possibly fathom. Fire, frost, and lightning wielded carelessly, like her Gully flailing about with sticks. But, as always, when the great do battle, the small are wounded the worst. The tale ends with all of the dragons leaving—harmed, but alive, and all the people in the cove gone without a trace. The people… her family.

  A tear formed in Irweena's eye and she knew that she had better go out of the kitchen. Her departed father's old friend, a man she called uncle, watched her leave and continued helping his customers, letting them know that their fishcakes would be delayed slightly.

  Irweena sat on the steps that faced the yard behind the shop. She cried for a minute softly, then began looking around at the buildings and the wall. This was where she had grown up. What fun she had with her playmates after the chores were done. There was a puppeteer who practiced two houses down, and they would sneak into the yard next door to take turns peeking through a hole in the fence to watch. There was a stray cat they had named Mr. Sniggerbottoms that was as tame as tame could be with them, because they fed him fish scraps after the soup was cooked. He was very fat, but they would pick him up and dance with him and tell him all their deepest secrets because he would listen, but never tell. Eventually, the now much-older Irweena would look at the herb garden and collect some fresh dill or basil. She would then go back to her fishcakes and the patrons would not be displeased.

  It was mid-afternoon, just after the midday meals were served. There were still a few of the regulars who always came by when it wasn't busy, enjoying their meal and discussing the gossip of the day. Mrs. Gottermot was expecting, but wouldn't admit it yet. Clive Durncastle was arrested again for punching a carriage horse that he said insulted him. Arigorn Schwartz had moved off to Dunwynn, to no one's surprise and to everyone's delight. And then a new voice was heard. It was the voice of a lady, but it was young. She said that she had heard tales of there being delicious fishcakes here, so she had to try one. When Irweena turned her head, she saw that the girl had taken a corner table by the window and was looking out at the street. She was dressed in fine clothes, but they were for travelling, not for taking in a day in Ravenford. She turned back to the hot oil and placed two cakes into the pot. After a few moments of looking at the flour bucket and measuring in her mind how long it would be before it would have to be refilled at Mr. Froddleskin's grain wheel, she looked at the cakes. She was looking for the skin to crack just slightly and there, they were done. With hands that knew their trade without their owner’s attention, the cakes were out and draining in an instant. Once the excess oil had dripped off, the cakes were dusted slightly with sea salt, put on a wooden plate, and Irweena headed off to the corner table. The girl said, “Thank you. I've heard so much about them. I can't wait to try.”

  She motioned for Irweena to stay while she tasted the cake. She took a bite that was not quite as dainty as Irweena had expected, for the Baroness had always taken dainty bites. After swallowing and drinking some water, she smiled and said, “That was really good. But if I'm not mistaken, this was made with river trout?”

  “Yes, m'lady. It calls for yellow jumpers, but they're scarce this time o' year,” Irweena said with a curtsy. Irweena, when she was young, had once been distracted by a fire in another part of the royal kitchen and the Baroness' cake had been slightly overcooked. When the Baroness made a peculiar face, the head cook had told her she would receive no pay for that day and that she would also have to peel dragonfruit for the rest of the week.

  The panic of imperfection must have shown on her face, for the young lady said, “Well, for a trout-cake, it is extraordinary, and you are truly the finest at your trade!”

  “Oh, thank you, m'lady,” Irweena said with obvious relief in her voice.

  “Are you the owner of this place?” the girl asked taking another larger than necessary bite of the cake.

  “No, my uncle…” Irweena said meekly.

  “Where is your uncle?”

  “He takes a nap in the afternoon while it's slow.”

  “Well, you simply must have yellow jumpers for your cakes, and there is a man out in the street with a basket of them looking for someone to buy them.”

  “Oh, m'lady, my uncle handles all the money. I can't possibly…”

  “Here, I think this will buy the whole basket,” the girl said handing her a coin of platinum. “Now hurry before they're all gone.”

  Irweena was befuddled, to say the least. She was sure the whole basket wasn't worth more than a few silvers, and no fishmonger could make that kind of change. As a fishmonger's wife, she had never seen so much as a piece of gold. However, the young lady had a compelling tone in her voice that seemed to give Irweena no choice but to attempt to buy the fish. Irweena walked out of the door and into the street. The platinum coin was immediately dropped and forgotten as she saw—each holding one handle of a three-handled basket of full-size yellow jumpers, packed in ice no less—her brother, her brother-in-law, and her lovely, bearded, sunburned, leatherhanded, smiling husband. To their side were Merry and Gully.

  The young lady watched the Fichgotz family's hysterical reunion from the window, hearing the screams, and almost feeling the crushing embraces Irweena Fichgotz gave to her loved ones, not noticing or caring how unkempt they were nor how badly they smelled. She also noticed Merry, who, as instructed, picked up the platinum coin and placed it in her pocket.

  “Mummy, I've written it all down, everything,” Merry said to her mother. “I can read you the whole story if you like.”

  “Oh, yes, yes my dear. I want to hear every word, over and over,” Irweena stammered through her joyful tears.

  The young lady sat at her corner table and ate the second fishcake. “I think I might even prefer the trout,” she said to herself. Then she put her hand on a long, purple velvet bag and held one end as one might a sword hilt and said, “We've done well. They're so happy. Doesn't it make you feel so good all over? I'm positively tingling. Now don't start complaining again. The job I gave you was extremely important, just look at them. I know you don't have eyes, but you know what I mean…”

  Here ends Tales from Thac.

  For more adventures from this

  magical land, please read

  Heroes of Ravenford Books 1-5.

  Also, watch for a new series

  coming later this year.

  Rise of the Thrall Lord will

  continue the story of

  many of the characters from this

  anthology including:

  the Stealles, Donatello, Seishin,

  Kortiama, Ves, and Ruka.

  About F.P. Spirit

  F.P.
Spirit writes high fantasy fiction inspired by the likes of Tolkien, Eddings, Brooks, and Piers Anthony. An avid science fiction fan, he became hooked on fantasy the moment he cracked open the Lord of the Rings in high school. When he is not writing, F.P. is either spending time with his wife and sons, gaming, doing yoga, Tai Chi, or walking their dog.

  A long-time lover of fantasy and the surreal, he hopes you enjoy his fun contributions to the world of fantasy and magic.

  Other Titles by F.P. Spirit

  The Heroes of Ravenford

  The Ruins on Stone Hill

  The Serpent Cult

  The Dark Monolith

  The Princess of Lanfor

  The Baron’s Heart

  For more books and updates:

  www.fpspirit.com

  Subscribe

  Connect with and follow F.P Spirit on:

  About Shannon Pemrick

  Shannon Pemrick, is a full-time USA Today bestselling author, and fuller-time geek and dragon obsessed. She also has too many novelty mugs, not enough chocolate, and a forbidden love-affair with all things shiny.

  Shannon resides in Southern New Hampshire with her overly sarcastic husband and one too many pets who steal all her bed space. When she's not burning her fingers across a keyboard or trying to squeeze into a spot on the couch for movie night, she's rolling dice and getting lost in RPGs or searching for brides for her dragon overlords.

  Other Titles by Shannon

  Experimental Heart

  Destiny

  Pieces

  Secrets

  Exposed

  Surrendered

  Reborn

  * * *

  Oracle’s Path

  Prophecy of Convergence

  Prophecy Tested

  Prophecy Chosen

  * * *

  For more books and updates:

  www.shannonpemrick.com

  Subscribe

  Support on Patreon

  Connect with and follow Shannon on:

  About K.J. Fogleman

  Keeper of dragons and lover of coffee, Kathryn always has some devious plot brewing in her cauldron and any number of bad ideas hidden under her pointy wizard hat.

  Be sure to catch her online and follow her crazy antics!

  Other Titles by K.J. Fogleman

  Tales of the Wovlen

  The Dragon’s Son

  The Dragon’s Due

  For more books and updates:

  www.kathrynjfogleman.com

  * * *

  Connect with and follow K.J. Fogleman on:

  About Timothy P. Doran

  A lost dream-walker along roads of fantastic and alien worlds, Timothy P. Doran, whom some call Tim, only occasionally finds his way into this one. On those rare moments when he does, he happily finds himself to be the husband of a wonderfully understanding wife, and father of three imaginative and clever children.

  In addition to having an insatiable appetite for fantasy and science fiction, Tim is an avid gamer with a particular focus on fantasy RPG, turn-based tactical and old-school pen-and-paper role-playing games. Tim played Dungeons and Dragon, from a very early age with a close group of friends, who, many decades later, still get together to roll the dice whenever they can.

  While introducing his children and their friends to the wonders of worlds previously lost in the mists of fancy, Tim encountered an individual of kindred imagination. This individual not only had the sense of adventure to walk those dream-roads, but the resolve and fortitude to actually chronicle some of them. And, through cajoling and determined prodding, F.P. finally got Tim to break his vow to write a thousand stories, and never finish one. So here we are.

  Although Tim consoles himself with the knowledge that Merry and Gully’s story is far from over…

  About Jeffrey L. Price

  Jeffrey L. Price has been a has been a science fiction and fantasy fan long before it was cool to be a geek and still has a fear of being pushed into lockers to prove it. He began his career as journalist before transitioning into the IT field. He still keeps his toe in the writing world as a frequent commenter on the iO9 website, through his blog, The Blue Scream of Jeff and by working on his own novel which he’s sure will revolutionize the genre if he could just finish it.